


Invulnerable

by letters_in_green



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:46:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letters_in_green/pseuds/letters_in_green
Summary: This was my gift for Boomchick for Gaiasanta 2015 on tumblr.
The prompt given was "The redhead was a tangle of limbs in the bottom of the boat, and he was still coughing up the water that had nearly drowned him. The boat's driver fought off the urge to throw him back in."
Unbetaed, no warning applies (besides possible bad grammar and a few swearwords).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boomchick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomchick/gifts).



The redhead was a tangle of limbs in the bottom of the boat, and he was still coughing up the water that had nearly drowned him. Angeal fought off the urge to throw him back in.

Genesis' assholery nearly killed them all.

Angeal stood in the boat with sword still in hand, his muscles all tense and trembling - whether from the strain of the fight or the rage simmering in him, he couldn't tell. It might have been easier to strangle Genesis now than wait for him to wreak more havoc, or at least scream and let out the pent up frustration. He had been patient with Genesis' rivalry for the longest time as he understood well and was used to Genesis' quirks, but this was beyond tolerable. The new leather creaked audibly as he squeezed his fists. His breaths were still wheezing although not as much the other two's in the tiny boat. Next to Genesis playing drowned rat sat Sephiroth, who despite the water dripping from his hair and uniform looked as unfazed as ever except the visible heaving of his chest and the slight rigidity of his expression - which Genesis probably would perceive as arrogance, Angeal thought.

Just like the first time they had met.

They were young, and to be honest, quite a bit starry-eyed to finally be part of the elite force of SOLDIER. Genesis worked exceptionally hard to reach that point; Angeal remembered that Genesis had confessed him once that he really wanted to meet the celebrated Sephiroth they had been seeing in so many news. His sole inspiration to pursuit a military career.

The one who dismissed him after one glance.

"This is no playground, step aside," were first words they had heard from Sephiroth's mouth.

Now, nearly six months later and getting to know Sephiroth and his glaring inadequacies in the field of social behaviour, Angeal understood better what happened there and could let the feeling of rejection go. For Genesis though, time only made the bitterness worse and nothing Angeal have tried to say or do had any effect on him.

Nor had on Sephiroth, for that matter.

He exhaled slowly, relaxed his fist around the hilt of his sword and secured it on the magnetic holster on his back. They survived, he managed to kill the Bottomswell they had been supposed to kill while Sephiroth pulled out of the water the dumbass who in his mindless rivalry had interfered with his attack, and none of the two stubborn idiots would heed his words anyway.

It would have done wonders to his mood if Genesis' first words wouldn't have been of scorn and injured pride, though.

Angeal gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore both Genesis' seething rant, the monster gore on the deck, his own aching muscles and the silence that enveloped Sephiroth like frozen stone.

* * *

The night found them camping in the mountain area halfway to Midgar. Tense was a mild word for the mood of the journey they had behind them; silence pervaded the air like a Cold Breath of a Snow, freezing the words Angeal might have wanted to say. Sephiroth and Genesis did their best at ignoring each other's existence as they climbed the steep mountain sides head to head - Sephiroth with his eyes trained on the path ahead, his focus never wavering, and Genesis refusing to fall behind him while pointedly not looking at his direction. In a less strained case, Angeal would have rolled his eyes at them.

It was a relief when they find a good, woody spot to camp near a quick, icy cold mountain stream. No soldier, no matter how enhanced, liked to spend long time in wet and bloodied clothes, and Angeal tossed his sleeveless shirt off with a pleased grunt. Genesis busied himself with opening a fire, making Angeal a bit less annoyed with him and life in general. Sephiroth putting up their tent meanwhile made his mood even more forgiving.

Until he realized the stiffness in Sephiroth's posture wasn't entirely due to the tension of the day.

"Are you injured?" Angeal was reluctant to ask but there was no way to bypass his suspicions no matter how done he felt with the obstinacy of his friends for the day. They were SOLDIERs on a mission, and working as a team was a crucial element of it.

Sephiroth didn't seem to have gotten used to it, though.

"It's fine," arrived the curt answer. Angeal frowned. Sephiroth didn't seem to be in any better mood than him and Angeal knew that made him even more secluded and closed-up than his usual self but he couldn't find the patience in himself to care.

"Sephiroth, look at me. Are you injured?" He asked again in a strict voice. Green eyes snapped up at him then away just as quickly. Sephiroth crossed his arms, and bowed his head so his bangs hid him away from Angeal's scrutinizing gaze.

"Don't bother with it, our hero won't show any weakness," Genesis' acidic voice broke the silence brewing between them, along with the last remains of Angeal's patience. Rage boiled high in him, shaking him, vibrating in his arms and stomach, catching in his throat as bile instead of the garbled sentences he wanted to shout at them, the months and months of playing mediator torn between his friends, tolerating their quirks and apparent flaws and trying his damned best to work it all out. Now he had enough.

"You…" he choked on the words, not being able to formulate them in his anger, and he finally turned on his heels and left the other two to their own devices and zipped himself up in their tent.

They could kill each other tonight for all he cared.

* * *

Genesis looked after his friend in shock for a moment before his ire led him back to his original focus.

"Couldn't accept help like a decent human being, yes? The invulnerable hero of Shin-Ra won't lean on lowly commoners like us," Genesis' pale eyes shone with icy disdain. "Why count on us when you can be on the top alone, looking down on everyone?"

Sephiroth didn't turn his way. He seemed to stare expressionless at the fire, or the wood, or the empty space in front of him - anything but Genesis.

The slight tremor running through his left hand went unnoticed.

He rose and turned to leave without a sound, the measured grace of his movements only feeding the flames of scorn consuming Genesis. He sprang and grabbed Sephiroth's arm.

"Don't you dare," he hissed. "Don't you dare to disregard me like this!"

It happened in a split second - a sharp intake of breath, a flicker of eyes - green eyes, sad, lost eyes - and Genesis stepped back like all his fury was a Status spell washed away by the smooth touch of Esuna.

"Show me your injuries," he asked, his voice soft like never before.

Sephiroth looked at Genesis, his expression neutral, unreadable as always. They stared at each other mutely for what felt a long time. Then Sephiroth took his shirt off.

A half-audible gasp followed by a whispered "Cure," then, "Cure3!" was all that Genesis said. Silence wasn't his usual state but at the moment he was lost what to say. Neither could Sephiroth.

In the non-silence of the tent, the soft, steady, warm breathing of the sleeping, Sephiroth finally found the words he wanted to tell Genesis.

"You count," he breathed, and felt Genesis alertness rising beside him. "You count very much."

There was no reply coming for a long while, but Genesis heard the ocean of longing in those whispered words. He reached out until his tentative hands touched long strands of hair.

Their breaths were left to tell all the stories their lips weren't.


End file.
